


Heartlines

by wordslinging



Category: Warcraft - All Media Types, World of Warcraft
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Canonical Character Resurrection, Deviates From Canon, Eventual Smut, F/M, Moral Ambiguity, Pining, Size Difference, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-18
Updated: 2018-03-22
Packaged: 2019-04-03 23:02:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14006751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wordslinging/pseuds/wordslinging
Summary: A true if somewhat abridged history of the Illidari Slayer, Thaenai Swiftshadow, her lord Illidan Stormrage, and their roles in the defeat of the Burning Legion.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is, essentially, thirst fic that got ideas above its station. It is an idea that started as just smut and then decided it wanted to be a slow burn, thus necessitating the writing of the slow burn parts. It is the tale of one humble demon hunter OC's decade-long quest to bone Illidan Stormrage. Welcome aboard.
> 
> Much of the canon lore, including William King's Illidan novel, has been unapologetically cherry-picked for what suits the author's purpose. Views expressed by characters who hero-worship Illidan enough to ritualistically blind themselves in emulation of him are not necessarily the author's own.

**Kalimdor, Azeroth, during the Third War**

The first time they meet, she attacks him.

This place could be any one of the settlements on Kalimdor the Legion have attacked, and is no different than the others Illidan has seen--complete, wanton destruction, no effort wasted on prisoners or plunder. The bulk of the Legion's force has moved on by the time Illidan and his followers arrive, but there are a few handfuls of demons lingering to pick off survivors, and Illidan has his senses honed to detect any presence as he sifts through the rubble.

There's a slight tug at the edge of his awareness, a light footfall and a rapid heartbeat, and he turns to see not a demon, but a young night elf with a length of charred wood gripped in her hands like a quarterstaff. When his felfire eyes land on her, she freezes like a rabbit for a single heartbeat, then rushes at him, swinging her makeshift weapon.

Illidan catches the wood in one hand and wrenches it from her grasp, then dodges a wildly thrown punch that would likely have only served to bruise her hand had it landed. Before she can muster a third attack, he grabs her about the middle with one arm, spinning her so her back is to his front and lifting her off her feet. The girl hangs in his grasp as if she weighs nothing, her own arms pinned to her sides, but still she struggles, silver-white hair whipping into a cloud around her face.

"Still yourself, little one," Illidan rumbles, his words falling on deaf ears.

Another quiet step approaches, and he whirls to see another night elf, her dark blue hair falling out of its long plait and what looks to be a kitchen knife gripped in one hand. She freezes when Illidan turns, her eyes going wide.

"Betrayer," she says in a hushed voice, and then levels the knife at him, her gaze steady though her hand trembles a bit. "Unhand my sister."

In spite of himself, Illidan smiles. They certainly don't lack for spirit, these two. "Gladly, if she'll behave herself." He turns his attention back to the one still straining against his hold. "Be _still_ ," he says, letting a touch of demonic growl creep into his voice this time. She obeys, her body going tense but motionless against him. "That's better," he says, and sets her on her feet.

The girl immediately moves to her sister's side, taking her free hand and lacing their fingers tightly. Illidan surveys them. Both bear facial markings indicating they've come of age, though he'd be surprised if either of them is far past that, their movements and expressions lacking the timeless quality older night elves achieve. The white-haired one is shorter than her sister, though no less lithe, and both have the lavender skin and silver eyes common to their people.

"What are you doing here?" the taller one asks, her tone a mix of nervous and accusatory. From her reaction to him, Illidan has no doubt she's grown up with cautionary tales of the Betrayer and his wickedness. The shorter, he notes, does not seem to share her fear, her expression rather one of open curiosity. 

"I'm not hunting night elves, if that's what you're afraid of," he replies, looking past them to scan their surroundings. "Are there other survivors?"

"Not that we've seen," the girl says soberly. "The demons--" Her voice breaks and she looks away quickly, her throat working. The white-haired one grips her sister's hand tighter and looks at Illidan with blazing eyes. 

"They killed everyone," she tells him. "We hid. We should have fought."

The rage in her eyes, the bitterness in her voice--they're as familiar to Illidan as old friends. He doesn't bother pointing out that in all likelihood, they would have achieved nothing by fighting except to die with everyone else here.

"What are your names?" he asks.

"Thaenai Swiftshadow," the younger girl answers with no hesitation. "My sister is Lysaenia."

"Thaenai!" Lysaenia hisses in a scandalized tone, earning a look from her sister.

"What? He can't know our names?"

Something catches at the edge of Illidan's awareness, and he lifts his head, scenting the air. "Quiet," he says in a tone that leaves no room for argument, and then "Down!" as two dark shapes loom out of the rubble toward them. 

Lysaenia moves first, grabbing Thaenai by the shoulders and pulling her down into a crouch. Illidan leaps over them, drawing his glaives. 

He deals with the demons quickly, then glances back to see both girls staring at him--Lysaenia in mingled fear and awe, Thaenai in unabashed fascination.

"Here." One of the fallen demons wears a sidearm dagger, which Illidan plucks from its belt and tosses hilt-first toward Lysaenia. "I think you'll find this more use than that butcher knife."

She catches the dagger easily--small for the demon's hand, large enough in hers to serve as a shortsword--and, he notes, hangs on to her knife as well, sliding into the sash at her waist. "You're arming us?" she asks as she stands back up, still suspicious.

Illidan grabs the fallen demon's long-handled halberd next and, after a moment's consideration, snaps the handle so that when he offers it to Thaenai, it's only a little longer than she is tall, rather than fully twice her height. 

"I am not your enemy," he tells them brusquely. "And I have neither time nor patience to seek to convince you of that, so believe me, or take your chances with the Legion."

Thaenai takes the halberd eagerly and gives an expectant look to her sister, who glances to the dead demons, then back at Illidan with a nod of acceptance. 

He gives a satisfied huff, taking up his glaives again. "Stay alert and listen to what I tell you, and you may see the end of this day alive." 

***

He offered the weapons more so that girls wouldn't feel completely helpless than out of any high expectations for them in battle, but a short while later they do manage to take down a felhound. It scrabbles out of the rubble and leaps at Lysaenia, who ducks with impressive quickness for one who struck Illidan as relatively untrained. She turns the dagger in her hand and stabs up, scoring a deep gash along the beast's side as it hurtles over her. The hound lands heavily, staggering, and before it can regain its feet Thaenai swings her halberd with a grunt of effort, embedding it in the demon's neck. As it goes still, Lysaenia springs up and stabs it twice more.

"I think it's dead," Illidan tells her, dryly amused.

"Doesn't--" Thaenai grunts again as she pulls her weapon free, having to plant a foot on the fel hound's corpse in order to do so. "--hurt to make sure."

They deal with several more demons before they meet up with the Illidari, who've hunted their own quarries and found a scant handful of other survivors. As the sisters join the tight huddle of what's left of their village, mourning their dead and wondering where they go from here, Illidan looks over the small force of elves who've pledged their loyalty to him. Illysanna, who never saw eye-to-eye with him during his long-ago time in the Moon Guard but was among the first to follow his new path, Altruis, kind and patient but no less deadly in battle for it, Alandien, Netharel, Theras, and all the others. Their numbers are few so far, but they've proven themselves loyal and capable, every one of them burning with the desire to see the Legion's end at any cost.

The lot of them end up making camp not far from the destroyed village, the survivors simultaneously wary of the Illidari and glad of the security their proximity grants. In the morning, the survivors will make their way to the nearest undestroyed settlement, and the Illidari will look for more demons to kill.

As the day's last light fades from the sky, Illidan catches sight of the two sisters standing apart from the rest of their people. They're arguing about something, clearly, though they keep their voices to low for him to hear what. Thaenai holds out a placating hand, and Lysaenia backs away with a harsh shake of her head, her own hands raised as if to ward something off. Whatever that's in reaction to, it seems to harden something in Thaenai--her jaw clenches and she turns away, ignoring Lysaenia's attempt to call her back.

"Your sister seems displeased," Illidan comments idly as Thaenai draws closer to him.

She looks down, shaking her head. "She doesn't understand what I want to do."

"And what is that, young one?" he asks, already suspecting.

Thaenai looks up, her eyes just as fierce as earlier. "I want to go with you. Learn to fight the Legion as you do."

Illidan paces a few steps toward her, until he's near enough that she has to tilt her head up to maintain eye contact. "You understand that we do not simply fight demons, yes? We use their strength, their power to fuel our own."

"I understand," she replies.

"It changes us," he goes on. "Makes us outcasts among our own people."

Her eyes move over his bare torso and arms, marked with glowing lines of fel magic, and then come back up to meet his burning gaze. "I know."

"And you would commit yourself to this path willingly?"

" _Yes_ ," Thaenai says firmly. "The way I watched you fight today...I've never seen anything like that. I want you to teach me. And then I want to help you kill every demon that threatens this world." 

"You want vengeance?" Illidan asks.

"I want to know, as certainly as I can, that no one else's home will ever be destroyed as mine was," she replies, and then inclines her head slightly. "The vengeance will be a nice side benefit."

He looks down at her, at the tension in her slight form and the fire in her eyes and the way she meets his gaze, still without a hint of fear. "Be certain of what you mean to do, young one. There is no going back from this. You may never see your sister again."

She does lower her eyes at that, still with that stubborn clench to her jaw. "Lysaenia needs to find her path. This is mine."

Illidan lays a hand on her shoulder, drawing her eyes back to his. "Take the night to consider it. If you feel the same in the morning, be ready to leave with us when we depart."

"I--yes," she replies, nodding solemnly. "I will. Thank you." 

***

In the morning, Illidan finds her standing between Altruis and Netharel, a small bundle slung over her shoulder and a determined look on her face. 

He doesn't ask again if she's certain, just folds his arms and looks at her for a moment. "Altruis? See what can be done about finding suitable gear for our new recruit."

"Yes, Lord Illidan," comes the reply as Thaenai looks up at him with a grin.

As they prepare to move out, Illidan hears Lysaenia shout Thaenai's name and turns to see her running toward them. Without another word, she pulls her sister into a tight hug, one Thaenai gratefully accepts and returns.

Over the top of Thaenai's head, Lysaenia fixes Illidan with a stern look. "You get my sister killed, you and I are going to have a problem."

He says nothing, but inclines his head in acknowledgement. Lysaenia turns her attention back to Thaenai, pulling away to look her in the face. "Look, just...be smart, all right? Make good choices." Glancing toward the Illidari, with their bandaged eyes and sharpened glaives, she adds somewhat dubiously, "Whatever constitutes good choices in this whole...situation."

Thaenai laughs. "And you take care of yourself. I love you, Lys."

Lysaenia goes in for one another hug, cupping the back of Thaenai's head. "I love you, too," she whispers, then lets go and darts back to the group of survivors. Thaenai looks after her for a moment, then shoulders her bundle once more and wordlessly resumes her place among the Illidari. Illidan doesn't see her look back again.

***

As far initiation rituals that serve to test your commitment go, Thaenai reflects, "eat a demon's heart and cut your eyes out" is tough to beat.

Two of the initiates Illidan's recruited in the past few weeks couldn't bring themselves to go through with it; they remain in the Illidari encampment and may find other ways to serve, but they'll never be demon hunters. Nor will the three who underwent the ritual, but keeled over dead rather than merely unconscious.

The remaining three--Jace, Kor'vas, and Thaenai herself--have spent the past several days recovering, reflecting on the experience, and adjusting to their newly-altered bodies.

Thaenai brings one hand up, gingerly touching the place where one of her horns now rises from her scalp. She doesn't remember the feeling of them sprouting--her whole body had been one bright spike of pain, making it impossible to distinguish any individual part of it--and now there's not pain, exactly, just a strange sort of itchiness.

The horn is hard beneath her fingertips, its surface perfectly smooth except where it's broken by ridges. She traces the shape of it as it arcs up from her scalp and then curls back on itself like a ram's, gradually tapering to a point that feels almost delicate.

She wonders what the others' horns look like, or what other demonic traits they may have taken on. They've all been advised not to test their new sight until they've fully recovered, the precaution encouraged with several layers of thick bandages laid around their eyes.

Even without sight, however, the presence that enters the room is unmistakable. Thaenai sits up straight, leaving off her cautious exploration of her new horns. "Lord Illidan."

"Thaenai Swiftshadow." It's common for Illidan to address his recruits by their full names, but rather than seeming cold and formal, there's a certain familiarity to it. It strikes Thaenai as his way of making it clear that he knows them all, that he can put a name to every elf who has pledged themselves to him. "Your recovery goes well?"

"Yes, lord," she replies. "I hope to be able to resume my training soon."

She hears some slight movement, and when he speaks again his voice is nearer, as if he's crouched to bring himself closer to her level. "Then what troubles you, young one?"

Robbed of the sight of him--which, in fairness, commands a great deal of attention--Thaenai notices for perhaps the first time how big an impression he makes on her other senses. She knew, in the vague way you can know things without really thinking about them, that his base temperature is noticeably warmer than that of an average night elf, that the fel magic etched into his skin gives off a scent that's stronger and muskier than arcane or Light-based magic. But it's one thing to be vaguely aware of those facts, and another to have his scent and warmth and the sound of his movements filling the gaps left by her lack of sight, to realize how much she can _feel_ his presence, the shape of the space he takes up in the small infirmary tent. 

She doesn't bother asking how he can tell she's troubled--she knows his eyes show him much more than can be seen on the surface, and she's likely not doing the best job of keeping her emotions in check at the moment. 

"The vision I saw of the Legion...their strength, the sheer numbers at their disposal...I keep playing it over and over in my mind," she tells him. "I thought I understood the task before us, but I had no idea."

"Few on Azeroth do," Illidan replies. "Do you think I ask those who would be demon hunters to sacrifice their eyes merely as some test of strength or loyalty? I do it because the only way to truly understand what we face is to see it as I did, as you now have." He pauses, then asks, "Did the vision weaken your resolve?"

From his tone, Thaenai suspects this is a test, and weighs her words carefully before replying. "I confess, master, I do not know how we can ever defeat such an enemy. But I know we must fight them nonetheless. I know that if there is a way to defeat them, we must find it. And I will follow wherever you lead in the name of that cause."

Silence for a moment, and then the sound of him standing. A clawed hand closes around her arm, gently urging her to stand. "Come with me."

Unquestioning, Thaenai lets him draw her along, anchored by his hand cupping her elbow and his massive, warm presence at her side. The sounds and smells around them and the springy turf beneath her bare feet tells her they're moving through camp, and then the ground starts to slope upward and the sounds of camp grow distant.

They crest the rise and Illidan stops walking, guiding her to stand just in front of him. When she feels his hands at the back of her head, tugging at the tucked-in ends of her bandages, Thaenai starts to raise her own hands reflexively, remembering the healers' warnings. 

"Trust me," he tells her, so quietly the sound is mostly a low rumble in his chest, and she drops her hands back to her sides. Illidan unwraps all but the last layer of cloth, tying the ends off securely, and then rests a hand on her back, between her shoulder blades. "Open your eyes."

For the first few moments, the world is a dizzying swirl of vague shapes and colors so bright they make her head ache. Gradually, things come into focus, and Thaenai breathes out a soft _oh_ as she looks down at the camp.

It's like she's only been half-seeing the world her entire life up until now. All the colors are more intense, lights brighter, shadows darker. The edges of things are razor-sharp, details she never could have made out before now clear to her. Some of the figures moving through camp seem lit up from within, bright auras surrounding them, and she realize she's looking at the Illidari who have already undergone the demon hunter initiation, or those who have not, but already possessed magical talent when they came to Illidan.

"This is the other thing you gave your old eyes for," Illidan tells her, and Thaenai turns to look at him, her breath catching in her throat. He's so _bright_ , his body radiating more magical energy than it seems any one being ought to be able to. "In time you'll learn to control it, to choose to see as you did before or focus your spectral sight on what cannot be seen by mortal eyes." 

Thaenai raises a hand in front of her eyes, and sure enough, she shines the way he and the others do, though more faintly. She smiles. "I think I can get used to this."

Illidan gives a low chuckle, cuffing the back of her neck in a roughly affectionate manner. "You'll have to, little one. You're one of us now."


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who left kudos or comments on the first chapter! As always with niche videogame pairings involving OCs I am psyched to see interest in this. 
> 
> My plan is to move fairly quickly over the Black Crusade era, since a) most of the actual story happens during Legion and b) the longer I stay in BC-era the more I get bogged down in actual ethical considerations of Illidan's actions which is not what I'm here to do, I am just a humble id-fic writer tending my crop over here.
> 
> Also, feel free to come yell about demon hunters with me on [tumblr](http://achantersayswhat.tumblr.com/), where fic snippets and process babbling may occasionally come up.

They've been in Outland over a year now, their strength steadily growing all the while. Wresting control of the Black Temple from Magtheridon has given them protection from enemies and a stable base of operations, while Illidan's alliance with Kael'thas has given them resources and a steady flow of new recruits. 

There are times when Thaenai finds herself nostalgic for the old days, when the Illidari were a ragtag band of night elves who chose exile over helpless fear and Illidan was simply _their_ lord, not the Lord of Outland. When he trained them himself and slept and ate among them in camp as they stayed on the move, footsteps always dogged by the Wardens.

It's pure sentiment; Thaenai knows as well as anyone they couldn't have gone on like that indefinitely. If they hope to ever defeat the Legion, they need the kind of power this stronghold and these allies grant them. Varedis Felsoul and his his own former mentors train the new recruits now, and other blood elf initiates have begun to rise in the Illidari's ranks--Kayn, Allari, Belath. Illidan still takes care to know his demon hunters, even sparring with them now and then to gauge their prowess for himself. The days when he appears in the training grounds are always charged with excitement and anticipation, the air full of cheers and battle cries, even raucous laughter and taunts as their master abandons all ceremony and urges them to come at him with everything they have. 

(Of course, everything they have is usually no match for him--the one time he's failed to claim victory was a three-on-one bout against Thaenai, Kor'vas, and Kayn, which ended with Illidan calling a draw when the demon hunters, all of them nearly falling over with exhaustion, nonetheless tried to rally themselves for one last assault. The three of them had clung to each other, laughing in hysterical triumph, as Illidan ordered them to the infirmary with the proudest look Thaenai has ever seen on his face.) 

But outside of those lively sparring matches, Illidan is increasingly remote and preoccupied. He keeps his plans close to his chest and spends long hours closeted in the Temple's inner sanctum or in the company of his blood elf advisors, and days can pass into weeks without the demon hunters seeing or hearing anything of their master.

And then he'll emerge from his solitude and lead them in a mission against the Legion, and it feels like old times again--only with greater numbers, better equipment, and increasingly higher stakes. 

The first time Illidan _opens_ a portal to a Legion-controlled world, after months spent fighting to keep them all closed, every demon hunter chosen to accompany their lord through the portal accepts that they may not return. None of them hesitate. Even Kor'vas, who alone among them was willing to take the question the Illidari whisper among themselves and put it to Illidan himself, does not let his lack of answer stop her from taking up her weapons and rushing through the portal with the rest of them.

She finds her answers in battle, as they all do. _This is what we face. This is why we have come here, transformed from our old selves, marked forever by our choices, worlds away from the places we called home. And this is what makes us different from them: they fight only to destroy, and we fight to save._

It's a powerful lesson, and a victory that sends their morale soaring and draws them even closer in loyalty, to Illidan and to each other.

The next time they venture into the Legion's territory, it's in pursuit of a tome of demonic secrets held in a pit lord's citadel. They don't know, and don't ask, what their master plans to do with the tome once he has it. They know how to recognize it and where to look for it, and as much as scrying and divination rituals can tell them about what opposition to expect.

***

Crouched in a narrow alcove in a Legion stronghold, unmoving as a statue, Thaenai takes stock of her situation.

The tome, their prize, is tucked firmly under her arm, radiating fel power that makes the demon within her stir hungrily. That's good.

The other two demon hunters who were with her when she found it are dead, and the only way she's been able to stay alive and in possession of it is by fleeing from the demons who killed them, further separating herself from the rest of the Illidari and ending up deeper in the stronghold than they were ever supposed to venture. That's decidedly bad. 

The ability Illidan and his demon hunters have to communicate directly through the fel magic in their blood means she hasn't been cut off from them entirely: good.

There's a patrol of several demon sentries accompanied by fel hounds getting dangerously close to her hiding place: bad.

_We're almost to you,_ Illidan's voice says in her mind. _Don't. Move._

Thaenai would like nothing better than to obey that command, but even as he speaks, one of the fel hounds lifts its head, scenting the air.

She waits, every muscle in her body tensed for flight but held in absolute stillness. 

The hound throws its head back and howls an alarm, and she throws herself into motion, sprinting away as the demons give chase. 

_You're moving,_ Illidan points out in a singularly unamused tone. 

_Under duress, master, I assure you,_ she sends back over the connection. 

_Just get to the bridge. We're on the other side._

Thaenai knows the place he means; a stone causeway spanning a deep pit, only accessible by tunnels at either end. It's a perfect choke point--if she can get across and join the other Illidari there, her odds of survival will increase significantly. If she gets cut off on this side, however...

More demons--she doesn't stop to count how many--have joined her pursuers by the time she reaches the tunnel that leads to the bridge. One of the hounds gets close enough to snap at her heels; she kicks, hard, and feels bone crack. A fel guard swipes at her and she tucks and rolls away from it, then springs back to her feet and keeps running. She's through the mouth of the tunnel now, starting across the bridge, eyes fixed on the familiar forms now spilling from the tunnel on the other side.

There's a sudden crackle and hum of magic from behind, and Thaenai risks a glance over her shoulder to see a sphere of fel energy hurtling down the tunnel. She drops--and then realizes that she wasn't the spell's intended target, as the sphere keeps racing forward and then slams into the center of the bridge.

The impact sends cracks all the way out to where she is, and she scrambles backwards as the stone gives way, falling in jagged chunks. Rolling back onto her feet, she looks out in dismay; where the long, narrow bridge stood is now just a yawning abyss far too wide to jump, its lower depths lost in darkness. 

On the far side, several demon hunters in the front rank fall as the stone beneath them collapses, but are caught and hauled back up by their fellows. They stagger back from the newly-created ledge, and at a shouted command they part like grass to give their master a clear path through. Even as Illidan spreads his wings, tensing for flight, the ground under Thaenai's feet shudders with the impact of demonic hooves.

She whirls around as the fel guard behind her takes another step forward, looming over her with a look of triumph on its face.

"Nowhere left to run, little hunter," it growls.

"Then I suppose I'll just have to fly," Thaenai returns, and pushes off of the broken stone, launching herself as far out into the gap as she can.

She falls, and keeps falling. For a few moments that seem to stretch out endlessly, the world narrows to the pounding of her heart and the stomach-dropping sensation of being in freefall.

And then a large, solid form collides with hers.

Illidan wraps his arms around her, tucking her securely against his chest. Thaenai throws one arm around his neck, her other keeping the tome clutched in a death grip between their bodies.

"Hold on!" he shouts, and banks hard, wings carrying them back up the distance she'd fallen. There's a roar of frustration from the fel guard and a spiked flail hurtles through the air inches from them; Illidan twists, one hand on the back of Thaenai's head to keep her pressed close, and the weapon whistles past harmlessly. A clutch of smaller, winged demons emerge from the tunnel and take to the air in pursuit, but Illidan is too far ahead. Another powerful thrust of his wings carries them across the abyss and through the mouth of the tunnel on the other side, past the rest of the demon hunters, who close ranks in their master's wake to meet the oncoming foes.

Lighting on the ground, Illidan sets Thaenai on her feet and holds her by her upper arms, bending over her with uncommon solicitousness. "Are you all right?"

She nods wordlessly, her whole body still thrumming with adrenaline. When she finds her voice again, the first thing she says is, "So, when do I get some wings of my own?"

He lets out a full-throated laugh, one hand smoothing fondly over her hair. "When you consume the essence of a powerful enough demon, which I doubt will take you very long."

As it always does, the knowledge that she's pleased him sends warmth spreading through Thaenai's chest. Looking up at him so close to her, his hand still resting on her hair, she very nearly forgets why they're here. Then she proffers the tome, and Illidan's expression turns eager and hungry in a way she knows has nothing to do with her. It sends a little shiver through her all the same.

"Well done, young one," he tells her as he takes it, and then raises his voice. "Illidari! We have what we came for. Fall back to the portal."

***

That night, the training grounds at the Temple are a place of mingled joy and sorrow as they celebrate their victory and honor their fallen comrades. A bonfire blazes in the center of the training grounds, and they open a cask of ale. Asha retrieves her lute from the barracks, and after some ribbing and encouragement Sevis brings out his violin as well. 

Thaenai is sitting between Jace and Belath, listening as their two musicians stumble through a semi-improvised duet (the melody is a very old elven one, adapted differently over time by their respective peoples) when Varedis approaches. The demon hunters start to rise and he forestalls them with a gesture, holding out a bottle with his other hand.

"From Lord Illidan," he says as he presents it to Thaenai. "For your service today."

She expects it to be ethermead--they've been given bottles as a reward before--but when she takes it, the bright blue liquid inside sloshes and fizzes, tiny sparkles dancing through it.

"...Is this what I think it is?" Thaenai asks, and when Varedis nods she grins delightedly. "How did Lord Illidan get Moonglow all the way out here?"

Belath gives the bottle a curious look. "Would I be right in assuming this is some kaldorei thing?"

Thaenai exchanges glances with Jace. "Oh, you're in for a treat," she says. "Jace, go find us some cups."

"It's your reward," Belath points out. "Sure you don't want to save it?"

She shrugs. "Can't think of anything better to save it for than sharing with my brethren."

By the time Jace returns with cups, a crowd has gathered around her, equal parts excited night elves and curious blood elves. Thaenai portions it out carefully; sharing it among this many, there won't be more than a few sips for each of them, but a little moonglow goes a long way.

As she shakes out the last few drops, she realizes no one's drinking yet, and all of them are looking at her expectantly. Her expression turning solemn, Thaenai raises her cup.

"To Gethan and Elais," she says, naming the two who fell today, and the other demon hunters echo her, raising their own cups. The sober mood lasts a few moments longer, and then Kayn raises his drink once more, looking at Thaenai with a smirk. 

"And to our intrepid trailblazer in the art of Illidari flying lessons," he says, and Thaenai laughs and knocks the rim of her cup against his to a chorus of cheers.

***

Another year passes in Outland, the cycle of the demon hunters' existence becoming a familiar routine: endless training and waiting on Illidan's word, the rush of battle, the mingling of victory celebrations with tributes to their dead, and then back to training and waiting, using their failings in the last battle to prepare for the next.

Thaenai doesn't know if she'd call this life _happy_ , but then, she doesn't know if anyone has any business leading a happy life while the Legion threatens existence as they know it. On mornings when she steps out of her cell in the barracks to be greeted once again by the dark, stony ground of Shadowmoon Valley under Outland's strange sky, it's hard not to pine for Kalimdor's lush forests and clear waters, for familiar stars making their rounds overhead while Elune shines down on her people. She thinks often of Lysaenia, wondering if she's well, what she's doing, if she resents Thaenai's leaving (she's something of a rarity among the demon hunters for having still-living family; one of the few others she knows of is Belath, who left a brother behind in Quel'Thalas). 

And if this is not a happy life, neither is it precisely _un_ happy or devoid of comforts. She pines for her homeland, but reminds herself daily that she fights to save it. She misses Lysaenia, but finds comfort in her new brothers and sisters, bound by blood just as surely as the sister she left. She has her fill to eat, a warm, dry place to sleep, well-forged weapons and the strength to use them--all she needs, if not all she wants.

It's enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -I will freely admit that a lot of this chapter's plot spawned from wanting to write that flying catch and needing a reason for it to happen.
> 
> -Something that disappointed me in the Illidan novel was how relentlessly grimdark I found its portrayal of demon hunter life--I mean, yes, they may be a basically-a-cult of murderous edgelords, but for my money a basically-a-cult of murderous edgelords who also genuinely love each other and can let themselves enjoy life now and then is more interesting and fun to read about.
> 
> -You ever write something from a character's POV and then read it over and go "...oh, HONEY", because that's me with the last section here.


End file.
